The Toes of Potay
by esking
Summary: All they wanted were some fish and chips. What they got was a sassy American from the 51st century and a creature as old as the Doctor himself. Who, incidentally, should also not be alive. 10, Martha, Jack
1. Chapter 1

**The Toes of Potay**

**Prologue**

**This is what happens when you watch Doctor Who and then have your dad announce that you are having baked toes of potay for dinner, but then are harped on by your best friend to actually have a plot instead of one short (albeit amusing) conversation. Let's see how it goes. Featuring the 10th Doctor, Martha Jones, and Jack Harkness, but having no pertinence to the storylines of seasons 3 or 4. Enjoy**

**Disclaimer: I am disclaiming my disclamation of disclamatorship. I also don't own Doctor Who…but I am currently watching it.**

"Just you wait, Martha," said the Doctor, gleefully banging his hammer on the TARDIS's dashboard. "In…" he looked at his bare wrist, "half an hour, you'll be tasting the best, I mean the _best_ fish and chips this universe has to offer."

Martha laughed as she watched him prattle on about the intergalactic critics and many festivals the restaurant hosted. It had been so long since she'd seen the Doctor in a genuine good mood. At this point, she felt she would have trudged through a planet made entirely of mud to see him smile again.

The TARDIS gave a final whir and shuddered to a halt. Martha looked at the Doctor. "Is this is?"

The Doctor waved his hand toward the door. "Taste bud heaven awaits."

Martha pulled open the door of the TARDIS and stepped outside. The sky of the planet was a warm light purple, like the beginnings of dusk back on Earth. Before lay a carpet of springy green grass, and looking to her left and right she saw a gravel path bordered by column-like shrubs.

"Doctor," said Martha slowly, frowning.

"Yes?" the Doctor bounded down the ramp and skidded to a halt beside her. He stuck his head out the door and took a heart sniff. "Oh, smell that spring air."

"Doctor, this is Regent's Park," said Martha. "_London._"

**THEME SONG**

**Next chapter will be longer. I actually planned this out before writing it. **

**All reviews appersheated **

**-esking**


	2. Chapter 2

**Delicious Chips**

**I looked at pictures for the restaurant, but I don't know the actual specifics of the journey from Regent's Park to Lisson Grove, so don't hate the American.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own nothing**

"The best fish and chips," said Martha, jogging along behind the Doctor's brisk stride, "in the _universe_ are in Regent's Park?"

"Well, about five minutes that way, actually," the Doctor pointed in the direction they were walking. "Thought we'd pop in for a basket and then come back here." He slowed his pace and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Stroll about the park. And, if I timed it right," he looked at his bare wrist again, "there should be no crowd at all. Yep. Sea Shell of Lisson Grove doesn't become a major tourist attraction for about…twenty years. Shouldn't be any rush at all." He frowned and pulled his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket. Martha could see that it was vibrating slightly in his hand. "That's odd." He smacked it with the palm of his other hand and held it to his ear. "Huh," he said, seeming satisfied. "Must've been a leak in the TARDIS."

They crossed the street out of the park and towards the opposite street corner. A four-story brick building rose up in front of them, and on the sidewalk beneath it was a quaint little café covered by a red and white awning reading **SEASHELL OF LISSON GROVE.**

The Doctor grinned at Martha. "Allons-y."

Inside, there was a stand up bar at which to order, over which hung seven menu boards, and just beyond that was a rectangular room filled with black tables. Only three were occupied.

"See," said the Doctor, looking pleased with himself. "What'd I say? No crowd at all." He swaggered up to the counter and said brightly to the cashier, "Hello, there. Two fish and chips, please. Or would that be fishes and chips? Whatever it is, that's what we'll have."

The cashier, a bored-looking, pimply teenager, nodded and tapped the order into the register. He handed the Doctor a plastic tent. "Number 43. Wait over there."

"Thank you very much, sir," said the Doctor. He and Martha moved to stand near the wall. "You know," the Doctor said softly, "Lisson Grove was the reason for the first peaceful alien contact with Earth."

"Are you serious?" asked Martha, also keeping her voice low.

"Absolutely. There was, or rather there _will be_, an ambitious food critic from the…Candamoran Belt if I'm not mistaken, who wanted to test out exotic food. She'll come in a year or so, make the journey back, effusing to every planet on her way about this place's chips, and, after much careful planning, they'll send a group of ambassadors down. Thanks to a few level-headed agents at Torchwood and UNIT, an agreement will be struck and the British fast food business will go interplanetary."

Martha nodded, impressed. "I just hope these chips live up to your praises, Doctor."

The Doctor raised his eyebrow indignantly. "Oi, 'course they will."

"Order 43."

"See for yourself."

Martha and the Doctor walked out of the little restaurant with their plastic baskets full of oily breaded fish and chips. The Doctor speared a chip with a fork and examined it, one eyebrow raised.

"Ah, yes," he said. "Potatoes. Toe of potay. Aha!" he laughed, and shook his head nostalgically. "The Potay, now they were a race for the ages."

"What are the Potay?" Martha asked, biting into a piece of fish.

"They were this race of regenerates. They lived on a planet not far from Gallifrey, I remember I used to visit them back in my early seventies. Mmm," he licked his lips. "They made excellent potato salad. I never realized that. A toe of a Potay is a Potay toe. Potato."

"Is that where the word came from?" asked Martha.

"I think so," said the Doctor, raising both eyebrows in realization. Then he frowned. "Come to think of it, potatoes _are _the toes of Potay."

Martha looked at the chip which she had just bitten off of. "What, you mean…?" she grimaced. "Am I eating toes?"

"Oh yes," the Doctor said, dead serious. "The Potay could regenerate every part of their body, except their toes. Their toes were their most prized possessions. And capital punishment for the Potay was having their toes cut off and sprinkled across the galaxy." He took another bite of a chip. "Some of them must've landed here."

Martha pushed her chips to the other side of the basket, looking nauseated.

"You know, for a doctor, you do have an irrational fear of body parts," said the Doctor, nudging Martha playfully.

"Only of eating them," Martha shot back. "I wouldn't eat _anybody's _toes."

"Aww, but they're so delicious," the Doctor waved a chip in Martha's face. She knocked it away, laughing.

They headed toward a bench back in the park and continued eating in silence. Martha stopped before sitting, dumping her chips in a trash bin. She turned away from the bin and toward the Doctor, noticing that he was frowning at his sonic screwdriver again. As she watched, he pointed it at his basket of chips.

"What is it?" she asked, sitting down.

"That can't be right…" he muttered.

"What can't be?"

The Doctor switched off his sonic screwdriver. "The chips are humming."

"_Humming_," Martha echoed. "As in, _mmmmm_?"

The Doctor held out the basket. "Can't you hear it?"

Martha leaned forward, and felt her jaw drop. Coming from the basket, she could hear just the faintest buzzing note. "Doctor, your french fries are singing."

"Not singing, humming." The Doctor set the basket on the bench next to him and stared at it, resting his chin in his hands. "Why are the chips humming?" he murmured to himself. "No, that wouldn't be it, unless…" He shook his head. "But those look like Gallifreyan chemical signatures. That can't be right."

"Ugh." Martha shuddered, drawing the Doctor's attention away from his screwdriver. "Thousands of people eating _toes._"

"What?"

She pointed to a sign pasted to lamp post, advertising the British Potato Council's bicentennial celebratory potato festival, to be held in Regent's Park in two days.

"Fascinating…"

"Hey, you guys here for the potato festival?" said an American accent from behind. The Doctor and Martha turned to see the familiar wide grin and WWII great coat of Captain Jack Harkness.

**Thanks for reading! All reviews appersheated**

**-esking**


	3. Chapter 3

**Bad Potatoes**

**Thanks to anyone who's reading this. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. **

"So, are you here for the potato festival?" Jack asked again, sidling flirtatiously up next to Martha.

"Cut it out," snapped the Doctor impatiently.

"What?" said Jack, forcing some semblance of innocence onto his face. "It's just a question. Are you or aren't you?"

"We _aren't," _said the Doctor. He held up his red plastic basket. "We're here for the chips."

"Ah," Jack nodded. "Lisson Grove. That was my first trip back to the twenty-first century, for practice jumping in crowds. Those were some delicious fries."

The Doctor offered the basket and Jack took a chip and popped it in his mouth. "Mmm. Heavenly."

Martha shuddered and gagged. Jack grinned at the Doctor. "You tell her about the Potay?" The Doctor nodded. "Yeah, covered that my first semester of galactic history. No one ate cafeteria food for weeks."

"What about after?" asked Martha.

Jack shrugged. "We got hungry. And broke." He swallowed another chip, and then coughed and pounded his chest. "Doctor, your french fries are vibrating. Why are they doing that?"

The Doctor shrugged. "No idea. Potay toes vibrate when they're near their host," he pulled out his sonic screwdriver, "but all the Potay were wiped out centuries ago…" he trailed off, staring at the screwdriver. It was whirring softly in its usual manner, but the normally blue light was flashing hot pink. "Well, it's never done _that _before."

Jack and Martha watched him cautiously. "What does it mean?"

The Doctor switched off the screwdriver and slipped it back into the inside pocket of his coat. "It means we need to attend this potato festival."

**oOo**

They passed easily through security at the potato warehouse, the Doctor flashing his psychic paper and introducing himself as John Smith, British Potato Council health inspector, Jack and Martha as his assistants.

The warehouse itself was a massive converted aircraft hanger from World War II. Its walls had been specially insulated to protect the potatoes from the iron oxide of the infrastructure, and was now filled with dozens and dozens of special storage containers filled with potatoes from all over the world, labeled on the sides with countries ranging from Ireland to Bangladesh, and each fitted with its own timer-controlled sprinkler system and atmosphere moisture measure thing, as the Doctor so clinically put it.

The Doctor held up the sonic screwdriver. The pink light was blinking, and increasing in rapidity the further down the warehouse they went until it was a constant beam, at which point the Doctor stopped and looked up at the nearest container. The lip stood a good three or four feet above his head.

"We need one of those potatoes," he muttered. "Martha, come here, get on my shoulders. Jack, help me giver her a leg up."

With severe wobbling (and no small amount of wandering hands from Jack), Martha managed to balance herself on the Doctor's thin shoulders. His whole body trembled.

"Why didn't Jack give me a lift?" Martha asked, looking pointedly at his much more solid build and well-muscled arms.

"Just…grab…a potato," the Doctor groaned. Martha leaned forward, clinging to the side of the bin and peering over.

"There's a cover," she said. "I can't reach them."

"Nn. Gah! …_try_…"

Martha pulled herself up off the Doctor's shoulders and swung her leg up over the side of the container so she was straddling the edge. The Doctor sighed with relief and leaned against the metal wall. Martha bent over, pulled up the white plastic cover which spanned the top of the container, an plucked a potato from the pile. It vibrated softly in her hand, sending a tingling feeling up her whole arm and making the hairs stand on end.

"Doctor," she called, dropping the potato down to him, and then landing lightly after it. The Doctor inspected the potato with his screwdriver. "I don't think…" he said slowly, "people should be eating these."

"Mind if I do a taste test?" asked Jack, holding out his hand.

"But what if it's poisonous?" said Martha nervously.

"That's kind of what I meant."

The Doctor passed over the potato. Jack sniffed it. "Haven't got any salt, have you?" The Doctor sank his arm into his coat pocket up to his elbow, rummaged around for a moment, and pulled out a salt shaker in the shape of a pear.

"I hate pears," he commented idly.

Jack shook a pinch of salt onto the potato and grinned at the Doctor and Martha. "Here goes nothin'." He took bite, and grimaced. "Yuck, raw potato." He swallowed forcefully, shaking out his body, clearing his throat. "Blegh."

Martha watched him carefully. "How do you feel?"

Jack shrugged. "Fine." A second later, his eyes rolled up in his head and he dropped to the floor. Martha knelt over him and felt for a pulse. There was none.

"Well, that clears that up," said the Doctor. "The potato festival is off."

There was a sharp intake of breath and Jack sat up. Regaining his bearing, he said, "That was much less painful than usual." Martha helped him to his feet and they faced the Doctor.

"I think it's safe to assume there's a Potay in the vicinity," said the Doctor, staring hard at the potato, which he had picked up from where Jack had dropped it when he died. "And we've got to save the potato-eating population of Great Britain."  
>"We've got to go to the BPC," said Martha emphatically.<p>

Both Jack and the Doctor frowned in confusion.

"The…British Potato Council," said Martha. "Tell them to call off the festival."  
>Jack snorted. "Right, because that would work well. 'Excuse me Mr. Potato Council Chairman, but we have reason to believe a giant alien with no toes is coming to steal all your potatoes and possibly cause mass destruction'."<p>

"Fine then, call UNIT!"

At this, the Doctor shook his head, in that way he had of instantly conveying the completely non-negotiable. He was frowning again in his deep-thinking manner, and when he spoke, it was with that maddening tone that always made Martha feel as though he was only telling her the tiniest bit of what was going on inside his head.

"The Potay are peaceful. Whatever it's doing here, I doubt it intends to cause harm. I'd rather find it _without_ a platoon."  
>"Why would a surviving Potay come to Earth, though?" asked Jack. "It's not exactly abundant with wide open breeding fields."<p>

"No," the Doctor agreed. "It's not." He dropped the potato into his pocket.

"How do Potay breed?" asked Martha.

"They stick their toes in the ground and stand there for three weeks until the seeds work their way out and into the soil," supplied Jack.

The Doctor raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Cultural exchange," said Jack.

"But the Potay need miles and miles of farmland to reproduce. Their entire planet was great tract of prime soil. He wouldn't come to _London_ for that. No…" the Doctor rubbed his chin and started walking swiftly back down the warehouse, with Martha and Jack hurrying along in his wake. "He's not here to breed. He wants something else."

"What else would a Potay want?" cried Martha. She slowed to a halt in front of another poster for the festival. The Doctor stopped and looked at her. Then his eyes lit on the wall behind her, and Martha once again felt as though he was looking right through her without seeing her at all.

"He doesn't want breeding ground," the Doctor said. "Because he can't BREED! Oh, I am so thick!" He rand his hand through his already messy hair, making it stand four inches above his head. "He's looking for his _toes_!" He whirled in a full circle and returned to face Martha. "Remember how I said capital punishment for a Potay was having his toes chopped and scattered?"

"Yes…" said Martha slowly.

"Well, there's only one Potay in history to have received capital punishment, during the first year of the Time War. Sarkam Pendle Ulysses Daboosh."

"S. P. U. D," said Jack, grinning.

"That was his nickname. He had his toes chopped and he was banished to the far reaches of the galaxy. He's probably spent the last 500 years searching for them." He pulled the potato out of his pocket. "And now he's found them."

"But why would he look here in the first place?" asked Martha. "The first potatoes were discovered in Peru in the fifteen-hundreds and brought back to Europe by the Spanish. Surely if his toes were the first potatoes, they'd be there."

The Doctor and Jack stared at her.

"What?" she said defensively. "I did a report in seventh grade. I have a good memory."

Apparently," the Doctor muttered. He leaned to the left so that he could see all the way back down the warehouse and narrowed his eyes. "Yep. The bin you got that potato out of is from Lima, Peru." He was silent for a moment. "Martha, that report of yours. You wouldn't have happened to find out where the BPC offices are, would you?"

**Thanks for reading. All reviews appersheated, I like to know who's following this. I promise I'm going somewhere. (:) peas in a pod.**

**-esking**


	4. Chapter 4

**The British Potato Council**

**So it has been brought to my attention by Mr. You-Know-Who-You-Are that my author's notes are no longer interesting. Sweetheart, the part you're _supposed _to be reading is the _story_. You know, the little words beneath the author's note? And now you have no excuse because you have actually watched Dr. Who. However, since I am a kind and loving person, I will include that I spent a good chunk of this morning crouched in my front hallway trying to persuade my cat to come out of the closet. He was rather reluctant to do so. However as I type this, he's sitting on a chair in the kitchen, resolutely looking out the window, but when I talk to him, he gives me his little innocent look just like Caspian's. That's all you're getting Mister. Deal.**

"I'm sorry, Mr. Smith," said the disobliging BPC secretary, not sounding sorry at all, "but Mr. Pomme-Terre is very, very busy, and has no time for impromptu meetings."

"How about impromptu mad men?" cried the Doctor. "Because I'm about to get very, very mad!"

The secretary looked unimpressed. She popped a bubble with her gum. Jack, who had been standing a few paces back, next to Martha, moved forward. He clapped a hand patronizingly on the Doctor's shoulder.

"Okay, Johnny boy, why don't you back up." He winked at the secretary, who blushed.

Martha rolled her eyes.

"You'll have to pardon my friend," Jack said, leaning easily on the polished glass counter. "He doesn't often talk to such…" he let his eyes linger up the secretary's face, tracing the rising flush, "gorgeous women. He gets flustered."

The secretary giggled, then forced the smile away. "There are no-I mean-you'll have to show identification," she said in a commendable attempt at authority.

"I'm Captain Jack Harkness," said Jack. "And who might you be?"

"Martha Waters," said the secretary breathlessly, all pretense forgotten.

Martha let out a frustrated sigh. "It _would _be," she hissed in the Doctor's ear.

"Martha…" said Jack slowly, savoring each syllable. "Beautiful name for a beautiful face. Listen, Martha." He leaned in even closer and lowered his voice to a sultry murmur. "When I'm done with my _very important_ meeting with Mr. Pottear-"

"Pomme-Terre," Martha Waters corrected.

"Mr. _Pomme-Terre_, I don't see any reason why I shouldn't take you out for a romantic, candle-lit meal."

"That's _very _against protocol," said Martha Waters. "No one sees Mr. Pomme-Terre without an appointment." Jack traced his finger along her jaw line. "But, I guess…I mean, I suppose…" she flashed a nervous smile, "if you're quick."

"Oh, Martha Waters," said Jack. He took bother her hands in his. "You may, truly, have just saved thousands of lives." He gave her one last grin, then turned to Martha and the Doctor. "Shall we?"

At the door, he looked back at the secretary. "I'll see you tonight, Martha Waters."

Jack, Martha, and the Doctor proceeded into the stairwell.

"Could you have laid it on any thicker?" said Martha.

"It worked, didn't it," Jack shot back over his shoulder, leading the way up the stairs.

After three flights they came to a door which led into a plush, richly carpeted hallway, at the end of which was a tall, polished mahogany door. Drawing nearer, they saw it was mounted with a bronze plaque which read, "Alfonso Pomme-Terre, Chairman." The Doctor pushed the door open without knocking.

"'Allo, there," he said brightly, striding right up to the massive desk which dominated the room and placing both his palms on its surface. "I'm the Doctor. You must be Alfonso Pomme-Terre."

Pomme-Terre, a small, round man with a round face and round little eyes gaped up at the Doctor, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"I say!" he said finally, slapping a fountain pen onto the desktop and standing up. "What is the meaning of this, sir!"

"Alfonso, you need to stop the potato festival. Your potatoes are poisoned." He removed the potato with Jack's bite marks from his pocket and set it on the desk.

Disregarding it, Pomme-Terre blustered, "What is this nonsense? My potatoes aren't _poisoned_. This is preposterous! Who let you in?"

"Ah, well. That's not important. What's important is that in eighteen hours you will two thousand people _dropping dead_ from _your _potatoes!"

"Outrageous!" shouted the little man. His face had darkened to a violent magenta, and he had raised himself to his full height such that he almost reached the Doctor's sternum. "You will leave, sir, or I will have security escort you out!"

The Doctor glared at him for a long moment, then took a deep steadying breath. "Mr. Pomme-Terre, _please_. We are positive that these potatoes will _kill _people.

"And where is your proof?" cried Pomme-Terre.

The Doctor pointed at Jack. "This an d- nearly died after biting that potato on your desk. Sir, I am begging you. Quarantine those potatoes and cancel the festival."

"I've had quite enough of this nonsense!" said Pomme-Terre. "Get out of my office."

"Alfonso, you're making a mistake," said the Doctor. "_Please_." The doors to the office banged open and six security guards came in. Two each grabbed Jack and Martha, who offered little resistance. The Doctor, however, strained every step of the way out of the office, flailing his limbs, shouting, "You'll be responsible for thousands of deaths, Alfonso! You will! Stop the festival!" They were thrown forcefully from the room and the doors were slammed shut. Instantly, the Doctor relaxed, and the three of them were escorted from the building.

Out on the street, Martha and Jack looked at the Doctor. "What kind of _Potato Council_ has armed guards to spare?"

"None, besides the Potay," said the Doctor. "Dear Alfonso's keeping secrets." He led them briskly down the sidewalk, following his sonic screwdriver. The hot pink light flashed slowly, on…off…on…off. Down several blocks and across two streets-without using the crosswalks or looking up-back to the warehouse. Outside, a small crowd was gathered. The Doctor strode up to a flustered looking man holding a clipboard.

He held up the psychic paper. "BPC health inspector. What's going on?"

The man wiped his shining forehead. He leaned closer to the Doctor and whispered. "Our potatoes have been…_stolen._"

"Stolen?" said Martha.

The man nodded. He seemed to be very near heart failure. "There was a truck, right there." He pointed to a spot on the road, where on might parallel park for ease of access to the warehouse. "The shipment from Ecuador. And then it just…vanished! Right in front of my eyes! It was just gone!"

"It's alright, calm down." The Doctor placed a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. "Everything's going to be fine. Are you in charge here?"

The man shook his head. "Mr. Pata is the festival director."

"Right, and where is he now?"

The man turned and nodded to a trailer parked in the alley beside the warehouse. "He's in there. Oh God, will you tell him? Please, it wasn't my fault!"

"Calm down," said the Doctor again. "Believe me, Mr. Pata's got bigger problems to deal with."

As they crossed to the trailer, Martha said, "That man said the Potay took the Ecuador shipment."

"That's assuming it _was _the Potay," Jack pointed out.

"It was," said the Doctor. "The Potay had good relations with the Time Lords. We shared technology. The Potay probably has a matter transmitter." Stopped walking, his sharp eyes roving all around the area. "Which means he's close."

"But he just took the _Ecuador _shipment," said Martha, "So maybe he _does _know his toes landed in South America."

"Right!" cried the Doctor wildly, pointing at Martha. "Good. Deductive reasoning!" He stared at her a moment. "Nope. We need to…" he frowned at Jack. "Human!" he shouted. "How many toes have you got?"

"Ten," said Jack, concerned.

"TEN! Good." The Doctor was breathing hard. "We need to talk to Mr. Pata." He wheeled about and sprinted to the trailer.

He burst through the flimsy plastic door, but when he spoke, he was surprisingly calm. He pulled the potato out of his pocket and held it out to a man in a pinstriped suit. "Mr. Pata, I'm John Smith, BPC consulting health advisor. You need to quarantine these potatoes."

Mr. Pata was tall and thin, even more so than the Doctor. The comparison Martha drew was to the walking stick from "A Bug's Life". He raised an eyebrow and looked down at the potato.

"That is a very serious demand, Mr. Smith. What evidence do you have to support it?"

"The potatoes are poisoned," said the Doctor.

"We shall decide that for ourselves." Mr. Pata indicated to white-coated lab assistants seated at a long white table behind him, in a portable lab which took up the rest of the trailer. "Prepare a toxicity template."

_Vibrations won't show up on the test, _Martha realized. She reached for Jack's hand and gave it a brief squeeze. He squeezed back, signaling that he understood.

"Great!" he shouted angrily. "A toxicity test. Why don't you just _mail_ it to the poison control center? People will start dying at six o'clock tomorrow morning! You need to act _now_!"

Mr. Pata regarded him as one might a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of one's shoe. "You'll pardon us if we don't take your word for it. We will need proof before-"

"_Proof!_" cried Jack. He marched forward and snatched the potato out of the Doctor's hand, and took a bite.

"Jack!" Martha screamed. "NO!" she ran toward him, but the Doctor, taking the cue, held her back. She pulled against his grip for a moment, then stilled as all eyes focused on Jack. He swallowed. And dropped to the floor.

"NO!" Martha buried her face in the Doctor's coat, sobbing loudly, pounding her fists against his chest. The Doctor wrapped his arms around her. He was staring at Jack's body as though unable to believe what he'd just seen. Slowly, Pata bent to the ground and held to fingers against Jack's throat, then straightened, considerably paler.

"How's that for proof?" the Doctor snapped, still holding Martha. "How many more people have to die?"

Pata turned to the lab assistant nearest him. "Seal off the warehouse. Send word to the Council. And you," he said to the other. "Call an ambulance."

"It's too late for him," said the Doctor grimly. "He gave his life for London. Make sure it wasn't in vain."

He led Martha out, using his body to help conceal her tear-less face until they were clear of the scene.

"Now what?" asked Martha. "How're we gonna get Jack out of the morgue?"

"He's died plenty of times," the Doctor assured her. "He's got experience in getting out of morgues. _We,"_ he took her hand, "are going Potay hunting."

**Thanks for reading! All reviews appersheated. And this is for Mr. YKWYA:**

**EXTERMINATE!**


	5. Chapter 5

**The Potay**

**Thanks to all my kind reviewers! I love you guys. And now the long awaited meeting with the Potay. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. **

"If he's using the matter transmitter, then he's within a half mile radius," said the Doctor, talking fast. "But if he was on the surface, someone would have seen the truck reappear therefore…" he stopped walking and looked down at his feet, "not on the surface." His eyes flicked toward a manhole several feet away. "Beneath the ground. Come on!" he ran towards it, and turned his sonic screwdriver on the bolts. Martha helped him roll the cover away, and they hopped inside.

They found themselves in a low, concrete tunnel with dozens of pipes and wires running over head. The Doctor looked up at them. "That's why the potato was vibrating," he murmured. "We're right beneath the warehouse." He turned and looked behind him at the tunnel, which branched off thirty meters down. "And he was right…here." He moved to a spot a little to his left. "Under the trailer. That's why Jack died faster. The closer the Potay is, the more the potato reacts."

"But then where is it now?" asked Martha, looking nervously from side to side.

The Doctor switched on his screwdriver. It was flashing pink again. He turned to his left, and the blinking slowed. He turned to his right. The blinking quickened. "This way. Allons-y!"

After 100 meters or so, they came to a metal door marked **MAINTENANCE **with a rusted wheel in the center. The Doctor pointed to the red-brown crust around the edges of the wheel, and on the hinges of the door. "It's all broken up. The Potay's been here recently but before that, I'd say this door hasn't been opened in almost a year. Perfect hiding spot."

"So what are you waiting for?" asked Martha. "If he's in there, let's go!"

The Doctor opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it. He closed his mouth, turned the wheel, and pushed the door.

The first thing Martha saw was the giant blue container in the center of the room. The space was not a big one, and the box took up most of it. It was the same blue as the TARDIS, and printed along the side was the word: ECUADOR.

"Looks like we found the place."

She heard a bang, and a shout that she only imagined would be a curse. It was in some foreign language, and must have been ancient, for the TARDIS didn't translate it for her.

"Who's there!" The voice came from the other side of the bin.

"Friends," called the Doctor. "Martha Jones and John Smith. We want to help you."

"Help me with what?"

"We know who and what you are, Spud. We'd like to talk. That's all. Just talk."

"No one wants to talk to me," said the miserable voice. It sounded incredibly human. "No one's talked to me in hundreds of years. I'm alone. Always alone."

"You don't have to be alone anymore," said the Doctor. He was walking slowly around the container, towards the source of the voice.

"Will you help me find them, then? Will you help me find my toes?"

"Spud, your toes are long gone," said the Doctor sadly. "They landed on this planet over five hundred years ago, they're bound to have been eaten by now."

"_Eaten!_" Spud wailed. "Humans eating my toes!"

"It's disgusting," Martha agreed. "But you know what humans are like. Come on, cheer up."

She edged around the corner, but Spud cried, "No! Don't look at me! I'm hideous!"

"What do Potay look like?" Martha whispered to the Doctor.

"Imagine the Slitheen, but more…lumpy. And brown," the Doctor whispered back."

"What are Slitheen?"

"Ah, right. Wrong you. Okay, imagine…Mr. Potatohead, only mushy. And eight feet tall."

"Ah," Martha nodded, trying to keep a straight face.

"Spud," the Doctor continued, now louder, "Listen, I know you're upset, but you must leave this planet. All the potatoes descended from your toes are reacting to your presence, and the people who eat them will die. I know you don't want that. I can help you get to a different planet, you can start again."

"A refugee planet is what you mean," Spud grumbled. "The Potay were a proud race, John Smith. We are still pure, even if I am the only one left. I will not stoop to a potpourri of lesser beings."

"Your pride will be your downfall, Spud. The Potay _were_ proud, but now they are gone, and their legacy rests with you. Will you be the one to see its total destruction?"

"Is that a threat, John Smith?" said Spud's voice, soft and deadly.

"Your presence here will cause thousands of deaths," said the Doctor. "I cannot allow that to happen. Please, let me take you somewhere where the noble Potay race may live on. There is nothing for you here."

"I must find my toes!" Spud bellowed. The ground beneath their feet trembled with his voice. "I must breed again!"

"Your toes are _gone_, Spud," said the Doctor firmly. "Your only hope now is to resettle on a new planet. Start a new race. Please, Spud. Go in peace." He took another step forward around the box. "Spud?"

"Don't look at me!"

The Doctor and Martha rounded the corner.

"Oh."

**Yup, that's a cliffhanger. Like when you're hanging off the edge of a cliff with a fraying rope and all you've got is a half-full bottle of Gatorade, a tennis racket, and a stuffed cat named Daisy. That's what this is like. However, the important part is HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY! And I would like everyone to know that I have a green velvety mustache which I intend to wear every day this week. So, despite my best efforts to remain anonymous, if you happen to live in my city and see a person walking around wearing a green velvety mustache, you will know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am that person. Unless that person is a fat old man, because I'm not one of those. Nor am I Johnny Depp. Most of the times.**

**Stay tuned for the next chapter, entitled, "Chapter 6".**


	6. Chapter 6

**WTF?**

**Thanks to everyone who's reading this! You cause me great joy. I have a terrible work ethic, so my updates are usually pretty sporadic. And now I'm only doing this to pass the time while the Dr Who episode buffers, while I procrastinate writing an essay. Anyways, here's the next chapter.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own anything. Except for Spud. This fact will make you jealous very soon.**

**Apologies in advance, I know nothing about hospital/morgue procedure, so I'm just making up the second part. **

"Oh," Martha said again. She rather felt as though her eyes were going to pop out of their sockets, or that her brain might explode just a little bit. It wasn't just the shock which made her feel this way. She instinctively knew that something about Spud's appearance was off. It must be a perception filter, she decided, to make that itching sensation in her brain.

"It wasn't my fault," Spud said, ashamed. "I set the perception filter to Earth frequency, and it chose its number one convict to model my image. That's why I've been hiding down here. I can't let anyone see me like this."

"Um, Spud," said the Doctor slowly, admirably serious, "What exact, erm, convict was this?"

"There were 'Wanted' signs everywhere, even on the satellites. He must be horrible, this Ralph Lauren."

Martha clapped her hand over her mouth to cover her smile. Spud was, there was no other word for it, _hot_. He was shirtless, and wearing a pair of dark jeans. But above the waist of the jeans were, without a doubt, the finest abs she'd ever seen. Perfectly tanned and chiseled pecs and shoulders, and face that could have been carved by angels, beneath thick, dark, curly hair.

"Yes, well, Spud. Ralph Lauren…isn't a convict." The Doctor kept walking forward. "You wouldn't get into trouble if you walked around upstairs. But, still, you must leave. As soon as possible. I have a friend with a teleport device, we can get you anywhere you want."

"Why can't we just take him in the TARDIS?" asked Martha in the Doctor's ear.

"The Potay and the Time Lords didn't exactly part on the best of terms. It's best if he doesn't know who I am. We'll have to find another way."

"What other way?"

"Well, if Jack still has his lovely bracelet…"

"Doctor, Jack's in the hospital's morgue right now, how're we gonna get to him?"

"Right, didn't think about that. Spud, can I call you Spud? I suppose I have been already, haven't I? Lovely, well in that case, Spud. Should I really be calling you by your nickname I mean we hardly know each other, and the Potay are really very particular about their names, aren't they? Sarkam Pendle Ulysses Daboosh, isn't it? But that's so very laborious to say. Spud it is then, glad you agree. Come on, Spud." The Doctor was grinning now. He pointed his screwdriver at the Potay and ran it all up and down his body. "I've neutralized your signal for about an hour. It's a beautiful day on a beautiful planet in a beautiful city. We've got some time to kill while Jack escapes from the morgue, why don't we send you off in style. London, 2010! Allons-y!" He led the way out of the maintenance room. Martha started to follow him, but realized that Spud had not moved.

"Hey," she said gently. "What's wrong?"

Spud sniffed. Even with puffy, tear-filled eyes, he was still smoking hot. "I've been alone for half a millennium. I don't think I can handle a city full of people."

"Well, there's no way to know until you've tried." Martha took his hand in hers. "Come on. I'll be right here. Let's go."

**oOo**

Marcy Baron was alone in the morgue when the body came in, in the customary bag on a gurney. She picked up her clipboard and walked over to meet the EMTs who had brought him in.

"Who we got?" she asked, pen at the ready.

"Mr. Pata says his name was Jack. No last name. No ID."

Marcy made a note. "Cause of death?"

"Poisoned potato."

She raised her eyebrows. "Bet the potato festival guys are over the moon about that. Alright, leave him there. See you fellas later." The EMTs left the gurney and retreated out of the morgue. Marcy unzipped the bag, and gave a low whistle. The face was handsome. _Very _handsome. She wondered if he'd been a model. Not that it mattered. Just another dead body for the shelves. He was still wearing his clothes. She unzipped the bag further. They fit him well, showing off his well muscled torso and arms. He had some sort of bracelet on his right wrist, sort of like the anklets criminals wore when they were out of prison. Her eyes lingered back to his very nice chest. It took her several moments to realize that it was moving slowly up and down.

Marcy grabbed her stethoscope from her desk and held it over the man's heart. _Thump thump…thump thump…thump thump. _The guy was alive. His eyes snapped open and he sat up, gasping. They gurney wobbled, and Marcy screamed and fell backwards. The man looked down at her.

"Sorry about that," he said, fully unzipping the bag and swinging his legs off the side of the gurney. He stood up and held out a hand, which Marcy tentatively accepted.

"You're…you're alive."

The man looked down at himself. "Yeah, that's the most common definition. Listen," he leaned in conspiratorially. "I'd be really appreciative if you would just…fill out that report normally. No one'll give you trouble with it, but I mean…" he laughed, "we can't just have supremely attractive men waking from the dead and walking out of the morgue. Let's just keep this on the down low, between you and me, understand?"

Marcy nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

The man winked at her. "You're a gem." He breezed past her and out the door.

**Thanks for reading! All reviews appreciated. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Farewell**

**Thanks so much to my kind reviewers for sticking with me. I now appreciate how the myriad writers of Doctor Who feel when they start with a great, amusing idea and it turns completely depressing. Caspian warned me this would happen, and we all know how much she likes to say, "I told you so." But I shall continue. **

**Disclaimer: owning nothing. **

The sun shone down upon Regent's Park, warming Martha's skin. Despite the grinning aliens walking beside her, she felt more normal than she had in months. A stroll in the park with friends. No Earth-threatening crisis, no evil aliens giving chase, no malfunctioning TARDIS, no blasts from the past putting the Doctor in a foul mod, just her and two of the most attractive men in the galaxy.

"John! Martha!" _Make that three._ Jack Harkness was jogging toward them from across the park.

"Jack," said the Doctor. "Nice to see you got out okay."

Jack shrugged. "What can I say? I know how to charm a mortician." He caught sight of Spud, wearing a newly purchased fitted white t-shirt. "And _who _are _you?_ Are we taking new recruits now?" he asked hopefully.

"This is Spud," said the Doctor.

Martha stifled a laugh as Jack struggled to control his shock. His smile widened and he shook Spud's hand, eyes roving over his chest. "Well, it is _very _nice to meet you, Spud."

"Oh, stop flirting," snapped the Doctor.

Jack didn't even reply.

**oOo**

The rest of the day passed with amazing ease and enjoyment, and as dusk fell over the city, the Doctor quickly rewired Jack's vortex manipulator to send Spud to the refugee planet of Gaspar Mor-Olto.

"I shall miss you three." Spud smiled sadly at each of them in turn, lingering a fraction of a second longer on Jack. "Thank you for your kindness, John Smith."

"Live a good life, Spud." The Doctor fastened the vortex manipulator around Spud's wrist and pressed a few buttons. "Now, the manipulator will come back by itself, so it'll just vanish off your wrist a few moments after you land." He clapped Spud on the shoulder. "Bon Voyage. He pressed a button, and Spud blinked out of sight.

Martha, Jack, and the Doctor remained where they were, waiting for the vortex manipulator. It reappeared a second later, dropping to the grass at their feet. Jack picked it up and replaced it on his wrist.

"Who wants dinner?"

They opted for a taco stand at the other end of the park, Mojo Tacos. Jack and the Doctor ordered while Martha popped off to the loo, and they moved over to a wooden picnic table to wait.

When she did not return in ten minutes, the Doctor said in no degree of uncertainty, "Something's wrong." The Doctor rose to his fee, looking around.

Following suit, Jack asked, "What do you think happened."

"I don't know." The Doctor held up his sonic screwdriver, scanning the surrounding area. He inspected the reading. "No! No, no, no, no, no, how did he do that!" He took off running in the direction of the public restrooms, and Jack followed.

He caught up to the Doctor just as he skidded to a halt, and bent down to the grass. When he straightened up, he was holding a familiar dark red leather jacket. Jack gaped at it in horror. The Doctor pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of the pocket and unfurled it. Jack saw his eyes harden. He offered the note to Jack.

_Meet me downstairs. Bring your TARDIS._

"How did he find out?" Jack whispered. The Doctor shook his head.

"Martha…"

**Sorry it was so short. Next one up soon!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Yes, hello there, how are you? Good, I'm glad, nice to see you too. First, I would like everyone to know of the beautiful TARDIS I drew for a French project, evaluating transportation systems. It is pretty damn fantastic. **

"Where are you going?" Jack asked as the Doctor set off to the east of exit of Regent's Park. "The TARDIS is _that _way." He pointed back in the direction they'd come.

"We're not going to the TARDIS, we're going to the sewer." All traces of happiness and relaxation were gone from the Doctor's face. His demeanor now brought to Jack's mind the way he had been in London as they had run from the ubiquitous Harold Saxon. He stalked forward now with a frightening air of purpose.

"You realized it's a trap, right?" said Jack. "If we took the TARDIS we could just go in invisible, grab Martha, and get out of there before he'd even noticed us."

"No, that's what he wants us to do. I told you the Potay had Time Lord technology. If he could get back here without a vortex manipulator, it's more than likely he's got a vortex dampener of some kind, which would strand us." They came to a halt at a dirty manhole, facing each other. Jack looked down at it, then back up to the Doctor, confused. "Downstairs?"

"Well, maintenance tunnels. He doesn't-"

"Crap!" Without warning, Jack grabbed the Doctor's lapels, pulling him close, and pressed their lips together, at the same time spinning their entwined bodies around so they had switched places.

The Doctor's eyes widened in alarm. "_Mmm!"_

Jack released him, looking over the Doctor's shoulder. He was breathing distinctly harder than he had been a moment before. "Sorry. I saw one of the aids from the trailer, couldn't let them see my face. Might have something to say about my being alive."

The Doctor nodded, still looking extremely bewildered. "Right. Good." He adjusted his jacket and cleared his throat. "So, shall we?"

Jack grinned. "After you, Doc."

**oOo**

Martha awoke with a pounding headache, and in complete darkness. She turned her head, trying to see, and discovered that both her hands and feet were bound, and that she was propped against a cold concrete wall.

"Doctor?" she asked into the darkness.

"He'll be here," said a familiar voice.

"Spud! Thank God, are you okay? What's going on?" Martha struggled around, trying to locate the source of his voice. She didn't even register that it sounded rather different now, that it had lost its nervous quaver and was now strong and altogether pleasant.

"Soon I'll be much better," said Spud.

"What does that mean?" Martha asked nervously.

"Your friend's going to help me get my toes back," said Spud. His voice was growing louder, closer. "I didn't recognize him until I saw his sonic device, the Doctor." He rolled the name around on his tongue with a distinct streak of malevolence. "Oh yes, I know the Time Lords well, I know of their regenerative powers. His time machine can give me back my toes."

"He won't just give them to you!" said Martha. "He doesn't work like that."

"Isn't it?" said Spud. "What about when I refuse," his finger traced gently along Martha's cheek, and she jerked her head away, "to release his lovely friend until he does?"

"He doesn't work like that!" Martha repeated. She knew this to be true. The Doctor would come for her, he'd save her if she needed saving, but she wasn't the one for whom he would tear apart the universe. She knew there was one for the Doctor, a woman he would blow up a sun just to see one last time, and woman who would always be standing there, invisible, next to Martha every time the Doctor looked at her. It was Rose Tyler the Doctor would do this for, not Martha Jones.

Just as this thought filled her with misery, there was a metallic banging to her left. "Spud!" shouted the Doctor's voice. "Open the door! SPUD!"

Why was he knocking? The sonic screwdriver got through the door just fine. A hand closed over Martha's mouth and she jumped horribly. The blind fold was pulled down her face, and her vision was filled with Jack's intense stare. He raised a finger to his lips, and then pulled her into a tight hug.

"This way," he breathed in her ear. He helped her to her feet and they crept around the back wall, hiding behind a great rusting metal contraption that might have been an old tunnel burrowing machine. From the other side, they could hear the creak of the door, and then the Doctor's voice.

"Spud, you can't do this. Where's Martha?"

"Please, Doctor, come in." The heavy thud of the door closing. "It's been a long time since I've seen a Time Lord. Good to see one again. And never did I imagine at such an opportune time. Now you can help me grow back my toes. Oh, don't try it," he said, and Martha assumed the Doctor had begun to protest. "Potay and Time Lord genetics are compatible. Your regeneration capabilities will work on me, too. So, where is it?"

Martha peeked around the machine, trying to get a look at the Doctor. He stood in front of the door, speaking earnestly.

"Your toes were taken for a reason. I can't play judge nor jury in Potay affairs. You'll have to appeal to the council to get your toes back."

Spud's chuckle sent shivers running up Martha's spine. She shifted to the side, and got a view of his back. He resembled nothing of the attractive Ralph Lauren model, but now a giant brown lump, with a barely discernible head resting atop uneven, pockmarked shoulders. He looked like a giant potato. "The council is dead. All but I perished, collateral damage in your time war, and I saved only because of my banishment."

Martha watched the familiar misery crease the Doctor's face. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you back your toes."

Spud pointed back to where Martha had been tied up. She tensed and ducked back behind the drilling machine. "Then your friend will die."

"You won't be killing anyone," said the Doctor firmly.

Spud laughed cruelly. "Coming from the man who slaughtered millions. I know who you are, Doctor. You're the reason I lost my toes."

The Doctor blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?" Martha's stomach clenched. She knew what was coming. She knew that voice. That was the Doctor's voice when he knew he was about to be told something horrible that he had done, about some life he hadn't saved.

"So charismatic," said Spud. "So awe-inspiring. The Potay had vowed to stay out of Time Lord affairs. The Time War was not ours to fight. The Potay were peaceful. But you, Doctor. I heard tales of your exploits, I was enraptured. I wanted to find you, to fight at your side. I joined the fray, and killed many Daleks. But killing is strictly forbidden. The council saw fit to take my toes, and to cast me out to the cold end of the galaxy. I have been searching for them ever since, and for the regenerative technology to reconnect. But now I have found something better. I have found revenge."

"Spud, I know you're angry, but revenge _doesn't help_. Take it from somebody who's tried. Killing Martha won't bring back your toes."

"But I'm not going to kill _Martha,"_ said Spud, as though talking to an idiot.

"I- what?"

"No, I'm going to kill the person you _truly _love."

**Ooh, cliffhanger! Happy day before Easter, everyone!**


	9. Chapter 9

**The One You Love Most**

**So here's Chapter 9. I must effuse again about my beautiful TARDIS that I made. It is beautiful. And it's also 3D, pasted to a black piece of construction paper, with yellow stars and at the top the word, "ALLONS-Y" and at the bottom, "ALONSO!". It's wonderful, I'm very excited, as you can tell. **

At once, an image rose unbidden in the Doctor's mind, of a pretty blonde girl staring at him in utter bewilderment, standing in the basement of a no longer standing department store. But how could Spud have known…?

"Captain Harkness, why don't you come out now," said Spud, "Hiding is so unbecoming."

Jack emerged from behind a huge piece of rusting machinery near the wall, gun raised. His eyes met the Doctor's and he gave a small nod. Martha was safe. He continued until he was standing equidistance from the Doctor and Spud so that they formed a triangle. Jack kept the gun leveled at Spud's head.

"Jack, put it away," said the Doctor evenly.

Jack sighed impatiently, but holstered the gun. "What do you want?"

Spud kept his eyes on the Doctor. "You know what I want, and if you don't give it to me…" faster than the Doctor could follow, Spud's arm shout out and grabbed Jack around the neck, pulling him in front, using him as a human shield, "I'll kill the person you love."

The Doctor's eyes narrowed in confusion. "I-_what!_."

"Oh, don't play coy with me, I saw you on the street," said Spud. "I know love when I see it." His eyes flicked to Jack now, who blushed ever so slightly, but the Doctor was still gaping at Spud. He opened his mouth, frowning, and then shut it again.

Finally, "Right…so, if I don't give you the TARDIS…you'll kill Jack."

"I'll kill your one true love, Doctor. You might want to think twice about any of the schemes running through your Time Lord brain, because I am not playing."

"Um…okay. Well, I still won't give you your toes back."

"So be it." In another lightning quick movement, Spud twisted Jack's head all the way around, snapping his neck, and dropped him to the ground. There was a quiet squeak from behind the machinery.

"Oh, Martha…" Spud sang, moving away from Jack's body, toward the drilling tool. "Come out, come o-out." Half a second later, Martha was in Spud's grip. "_Doctor_."

"Spud, you don't need to do this," said the Doctor. "I gave you a good life. You can remake the Potay race. You are the _last of your kind._"

"You can't inspire me, Doctor," said Spud. "I lived that life, for thirty years. That's how long it took to make my own vortex manipulator, to come back and avenge myself on you for sending me there!"

"Spud, I-"

"You sent me to a plan torn apart by war!" cried Spud. "All that was left was death and destruction and pain. You told me to live a good life, Doctor! _How?_ I will never escape death, but now," he smiled darkly, "now I will become it. Tomorrow my toes will kill thousands, but tonight…" his grip tightened around Martha's neck.

"Spud, please," said the Doctor softly.

"You don't get to plead. Tonight-" BANG!

Martha screamed as blood splattered all over her and Spud dropped away, revealing Jack, holding a smoking gun.

"Why did you do that!" the Doctor shouted furiously.

"Or, 'thank you for saving dear Martha,' as people used to say," said Jack.

"You murdered the last living Potay! You _destroyed_ a race!"

"I saved Martha's life!" Jack shouted back. "I did what I had to do!"

"You never have to kill. Ever." The Doctor's voice was no longer raised. It was low and soft, and even angrier than before. "We don't get to end lives."

"Coming from you," said Jack. "Was it true what Spud said about you? How many have you killed, Doctor?"

"Stop it!" cried Martha. "Stop it both of you!" She stamped her foot, and both men turned to look at her, taken aback. She attempted a smile. "We just saved the potato festival and thousands of people. Can't we celebrate? Get a milk shake or something?"

At long last, the Doctor smiled at her and said, "Good old Martha Jones. Always with the answers. Alright then. Allons-y." He started towards the door.

"But-" said Martha, remaining still. "What about…him." She gestured to Spud."

"Leave him," said the Doctor grimly. "He'll disintegrate in a couple of hours."

"Pleasant fellow," Jack muttered as he followed the Doctor and Martha into the tunnel.

"You should be glad it wasn't a Tomay."

**The end. **


End file.
